No Rest For The Wicked
by Kiro Angel
Summary: Harry receives a rather unexpected upgrade after the final battle. It turns out that cottonmouth moccasins aren't just for murder and potions ingredients, they are a great fashion accessory, too. Unfortunately, or not, Severus Snape is around to train Harry in the art of snake charming. How... charming. m/m, slash, Snarry, HPSS
1. Chapter 1: Developments

AN: So I swore to myself that I would never write a cliche story, especially not a creature!fic. Well, guess what this is? You guessed it, a creature fic. It made sense and I just spent so long geeking out on how much sense it makes, which is not pathetic at all because it makes so much sense.

And everyone, a HUGE thank you to the fantastical alexsblackrose, my editor. She took the time out of her INCREDIBLY busy schedule to get this edited by Valentine's, so love her to death.

Anyway, so that is that. I do not own Harry Potter or its characters or settings, nor do I own any of the plot contained within the pages and discs. Those belong to JK Rowling and her publishers.

Enjoy!

~Kiro

P.S.- for all of you for Valentine's, look at this link:  
/

* * *

When Harry retreated to Gryffindor Tower after the Final Battle for some long deserved rest, the last thing he thought was that he would be awoken by screaming and an odd tingling sensation in his entire body, not to mention a headache to rival crucio. However, it seemed like life never really followed his expectations, did it? So, of course, that was exactly what happened.

Now before we begin the explanation of this newest development, you have to understand a few things about Harry.

One: Harry was at the tender age of one year old, a year crucial for emotional, physical, mental, and spiritual development, when his brain was forcefully fused with a foreign piece of malicious soul (ie. Voldemort).

Two: Everything, no matter if it is human, animal, some combination of the two, or something completely separate all together, has a self-preservation instinct. This includes keeping itself as hidden and separate as possible from pieces of anything malicious (like Voldemort's handy-dandy horcrux).

Three: There are certain things in this world (a healthy psyche, a good spiritual foundation, the power of a magical mythical beast of ancient bloodlines) that need a whole, untainted soul, mind, and body to come to their full maturity and full potential (thanks a lot, Moldy).

So you see it is understandable that, after the disgusting violation of one-year-old Harry's mind and soul, something in him took refuge and chose to remain hidden. It also is incredibly logical that it would then surface as soon as the unnatural "thing" that was the horcrux was destroyed and Harry had enough energy for the change to take place.

It is also logical that, after having missed about sixteen years and a large chunk of formative development for this major component of Harry's physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual being, the sudden reintroduction of said component would be... shocking at the very least.

Not a bad shocking. Well, not an unmanageable, bad shocking. But rather a "holy fuck" moment accompanied by actual physical shock and one monster of a migraine.

So it came to pass that, yes, Harry's well-deserved nap was interrupted by a scream and a tingling sensation and a headache worse than crucio. Because, no, Harry's life just wasn't complicated enough beforehand.

And if at that exact moment a man thought dead awoke, gasping, with no wounds to speak of, then that was of no consequence. No, none at all.

Harry groggily opened heavy lids, trying to force thought past the pain in his skull. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful, and decided to simply close his eyes and try to wait out the pain.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, followed by the door creaking open and Hermione entering quietly.

"Harry?"

He groaned and flipped over, burying his head in his pillow to hide it from the light which spilled through the doorway at her entry.

"Harry, are you okay?"

He groaned again and mumbled something that was muffled by the pillow. Exasperated, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

"Harry, I can't help you if you don't speak clearly."

With another groan, he threw off his pillow, flipped back over, and pulled the covers down to his waist.

"My head feels like- like- I can't even think right now, but it feels bad, okay. Painful."

Hermione simply stared at him, eyes scanning his now-exposed face and neck. Nodding to herself, she calmly took three steps back into the hall, closed the door, turned, and cast her Patronus, which zipped off to the hospital wing. That done, she turned, peeked through the door again, and promptly fainted into a neat heap on the stone floor.

When Harry re-awoke, sans headache, the entire red and gold room around his bed was filled with chatter. Moaning with unhappiness at the noise, he opened his eyes to find half the remaining Order surrounding his bed.

"Can you guys shut up?"

The room got immediately quieter, whispers decreasing to a rustle just within his hearing. A timid-looking Hermione got up from her seat next to Ron and cautiously approached him, avoiding his eyes.

"H-Harry, have you had time to look in a mirror since the battle?"

Harry screwed up his face at the odd question.

"Uh, no, I really didn't want to see how horrible I looked staring back at me. Why?"

Hermione pursed her lips, looked over her shoulder at Ron, and back to Harry on the bed, still not making eye contact.

"Well, you see, Harry, you've got some... changes. Some really big changes."

Immediately, Harry raised his hands to his face, mapping out the smooth skin there.

"What- was I hit by a disfiguring curse that I didn't notice? Do I have scars all over my face? I still have my nose, don't I? I would hate to go through all that defeating no-nose in order to lose mine myself."

Hermione looked to be debating something with herself, and eventually one action won out as she began to dig in her purse. She pulled out a hand mirror and, looking it over, held it out to him.

"Here. Just- take a look."

Harry held the mirror before his face. He didn't look that different- tired, yes, he had bags beneath his eyes. His skin was a bit too pale, and his eyes looked irritated and too wide. His hair-

His hair was staring back at him. Thirty some black eyes were looking at him from a mass of scales and cold-blooded flesh. Snakes were slithering over one another atop his scalp, growing from the skin there. They were almost pure black on top, and toward their bellies became an incredibly dark brown, patterned with diamonds. Their heads were triangular and the eyes were slitted, every now and then blinking at him. Each one was about the thickness of a pencil, and they were all the same length that his hair had been when it had still been- well, hair. One flicked its tongue at the mirror.

His brain finally realizing what it was seeing, Harry screamed like a little girl, tossing the mirror to the other side of the room where someone caught it before it could shatter. He scrambled backward in his bed as if backing up into his pillows could separate himself from his own appearance.

"What the hell! You couldn't tell me I was a- a- a- whatever I am?"

Hermione looked solemnly at the ground as she replied, voice solemn, as if delivering a eulogy or a prison sentence.

"A gorgon. They feature in Greek mythology, the most well-known was Medusa. Your gaze would ordinarily turn all of us into stone, but since you are so weak it would take direct eye contact, and even that would only petrify us. As it is, it would be safer if you would close your eyes. We don't need to burden Professor Sprout so soon after the battle by making her start maturing mandrakes again."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, running a hand through his hissing hair.

"What happened? Was it Voldemort, or a Death Eater?"

"No. We- we believe that you inherited this from your... your father. When you were an infant and turned into a horcrux, it was suppressed by the shard of Voldemort's soul in your head. When that barrier was removed, it waited until you had enough strength to come back. After your nap- well, you saw. At least, that is the theory."

There was a heavy, meaning-weighted pause before she spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I've been thinking and I think- if your father's experiences are taken into account, that if your gorgon side had not been suppressed, you would have slowly grown into it and been able to control your gaze and your- hair. Right now, your body has to adjust and you won't be able to control any of your nature until it does."

Harry placed his head in his hands and sighed a half-sob into his palms. One of the black snakes on his head bit his finger and he swatted it. It recoiled itself with the others draped over his forehead.

"Just one question for now, Hermione."

She nodded, looking cautiously curious.

"Do these guys on my head ever shut up?"

A chorus of hisses, annoyed "no"s, met his ears from atop his scalp. He sighed.

Harry awoke from his doze with a snap at the thunk of heavy books on wood. Startled, he looked around to see Hermione taking books from the large pile she had set upon his bedside table.

"I've been doing research and I've uncovered a disappointingly small amount of knowledge. Most of it is straight from Greek mythology, and I have seen a few mentions of gorgons briefly in larger tomes, but there are a few good bits of information."

She thrust a thin, brown book with a supple leather cover into his hands. Looking down at it, he saw it was titled "Straight From The Centaur's Mouth". How charming.

"This is the best I've found so far. Look at page eighteen."

Harry obligingly flipped to the correct page and started to read, apparently not quickly enough for his friend's liking. After a few seconds, a groan came from his right.

"Oh, who am I kidding, you'll take forever. Here, let me read aloud."

The book was snatched from his fingers. Hermione smoothed out the pages and cleared her throat, ignoring Harry's pointed glare.

_In a time long ago, before the gods went their separate ways and when magic still ruled over all mortals, there lived three sisters named Medusa, Euryale, and Stheno. These sisters labored under the goddess Athena as sister priestesses, pledged to her in life, body, and soul._

_The three sisters were incredible in their beauty, but one, the youngest, named Medusa, was the most beautiful. The great god of the sea, Poseidon was attracted by her beauty and her work for the goddess. He began to visit her, in the form of a handsome fisherman, and slowly fell in love with her, and she with him._

_One month, it was many days before Poseidon could see his Medusa, as his brother Zeus demanded storms be crafted on the sea to the east. When at last he was released from his duty, Poseidon could not bear to wait for his love in the nearby marketplace as usual, and instead went to meet her in the temple of her goddess._

_Overcome with joy and lust at once again seeing one another, the pair fell upon each other and made love within the temple of Athena. It was on this night that Medusa learned of the true identity of her lover, before he left. He fled into the night before she could react, frightened of what Athena would do since her uncle had desecrated her temple._

_Athena was furious. One of her priestesses, one who was pledged to her and belonged to her, had sullied her temple with another god. 'Twas an unforgivable action. Athena knew it had to have been one of the three beautiful sisters, she knew the essence of their magic. However, the temple was dark that night and she could not be sure of which sister it had been. Enraged at the actions of the unknown sister, she summoned all three of them together in her desecrated temple._

_"Which of you was it," she cried, "which of you sullied my temple with your despicable actions?"_

_Possessing great love for their sister and not wanting to see her punished by the goddess, Stheno and Euryale sought to take the blame._

_"'Twas I!" cried Stheno. "My fierce spirit, like the roughest waves at the edges of the world, attracted the sea god to me."_

_"No, 'twas I!" cried Euryale. "My beautiful voice, like the sound of the waves on the open ocean, was what attracted the sea god to me!"_

_But Medusa, not wanting her sisters to suffer punishment for a thing which she had readily done, cried out as well._

_"No, 'twas me!" she cried. "My beauty, with skin as pale as the palest sands, with lips the color of coral, and with eyes the shade of the Mediterranean were what attracted the sea god to me."_  
_Athena, now even more unsure and set ill at ease by the selflessness each sister possessed, decided she had suffered enough._

_"Enough!" She yelled, her bellow shaking the rafters of her temple. "Since none of you will allow another to undergo punishment alone, all three of you shall be punished."_

_She drew upon her godly magic of war and wisdom and cast curses upon the three._

_"For all of your beauty, you shall be cursed with ugliness."_

_She waved her hand and the three sisters grew snakes upon their heads in place of hair, fangs in place of canines, and skeletal frames._

_"And for daring to look at a man in such a way within my temple, each of you shall be cursed. From this day forward you will posess sight that will turn any man into stone when you look upon him."_

_Again, she waved her hand, then vanished into the air. Weeping, the three sisters fled to the harbor to pray to Poseidon, covering their eyes with their hands as they ran through the darkened city. When they reached the water, they collapsed in grief as one._

_"Please," cried Medusa to the sea god, "my love, help us!"_

_Poseidon, wrought with pain that his love and her so loved sisters might suffer so, swept down before them._

_"I am sorry," he lamented, "I cannot undo the curses the goddess has bestowed upon you. But I can grant you other gifts."_

_"For Stheno, the fiercest of the sisters, the weapon of magic of defense and of the mind."_

_He swept his godly hand in an arc, and Stheno glowed with godly light._

_"For Euryale, the sister with the most beautiful voice, the ability to sway a man's actions and beliefs with nothing but words, and construct complex spells with nothing but a song."_

_He swept his other arm, and the second sister began to glow from within_

_"And for Medusa, my love, the most beautiful of the sisters, a child. And with this child, the knowledge that every one of our children and our children's children will possess another with as much love as we have for one another. Except that none of these future SoulMates will be able to be separated as we must be."_

_Watching as Medusa clutched her belly in bitter love, he shed a single tear, which splashed down onto the white sand of the shore._

_"For you to protect our child, and for our child and our childrens' children to protect their loves, I give you greater power and greater destinies than any other mortal. Live well, my love."_

_With that, Poseidon vanished in a spray of sea mist._

Hermione looked up at the end of the page and folded the book closed, looking everywhere but at her friend's eyes.

"So... You think I am descended from one of these sisters?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well... Which one, then?"

Hermione reopened the book, scanning it eagerly.

"I do not know. We would have to learn by trial and error. Here- why don't you try commanding me to do something."

Harry thought for a moment.

"Uh... Hermione, make me a sandwich."

They waited a few seconds. Nothing happened. Hermione sat, prim and proper as always, staring curiously at her hands as if waiting for them to make a sandwich without her bidding. They remained still.

"Well, maybe you have to sing it? Sing something. It says that Euryale had a beautiful voice."

Casting around for a song he knew, Harry belted out a few bars.

"I ki-issed a boy and I liked i-it..."

Hermione winced and slapped her hands over her head to block out the sound, which resembled a cat screaming a battle yell at a rival, but with less drama and more gravel. When the horrendous sound stopped, she looked up from where she had covered her ears. Carefully, she removed her hands and sat up.

"No, no, definitely not Euryale then. That leaves Stheno and Medusa."

Minutes passed as each thought hard. Thinking, Hermione tapped the paper over and over with her index finger.

"Well," Harry thought aloud, "there isn't really a way to test if I'm Medusa's descendent. And I've always been good at defense. But we could see if I'm any good at Legilimancy now."

Hermione appeared a bit reluctant, but nodded, handing him her wand.

"Okay. Just don't- don't look at anything if you get in."

Harry nodded and lifted the borrowed wand, taking a shaky breath. Nodding decisively, he flicked the wooden rod.

"Legilimens!"

A few seconds passed. Nothing. No flashing lights, no diving sensation, no hitting of brick walls or painful revelations. Just the whistle of wind outside the window and painfully red and gold upholstery.

"Well, you are a descendent of Medusa, then."

A moment passed, then another. Harry's frame began to shake as he chuckled, then giggled, then belted out full laughter. Hermione soon joined in, and their laughs echoed through the tower, the first laughter they had uttered since long before the final battle.

* * *

And about the myth:

The myth in this is loosely based off of the gorgonsof Greek mythology, but I added things to make it more pretty.

I used Wikipedia, so shame on me, but apparently for the sisters (read the story first or this won't make sense):

Stheno = the oldest, most warrior like of the sisters, killed more men than the other two combined, has red snake hair and fangs, immortal  
Euryale = second oldest, known for her bellowing cries (especially in grief for Medusa), immortal  
Medusa = youngest, mortal, killed by Perseus (more further on)

Yeah. Hope you liked it! Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2: Rebirth

AN: Uh... So yeah. This- I- I don't know. Why. At all. Whatever. Sev still loves me. Not.

So, this is the continuation of that last chapter... I thought you might like it. It follows Sev, so... Yeah. There's a tiny kind of surprise in there for you. Hope you like snakes.

I took a bit longer than needed to post this so... Sorry... But it looks a lot better now, which is cool.

Thanks again to my wonderful editor, alexsblackrose! She edited this even when she was really busy, so we should all give her a bow and a round of applause.

Still don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters or settings. I have no clue why you need the reminder, but whatever.

Oh, and do you like the cover art? Her name is Sabra.

Enjoy!

~Kiro

* * *

Severus sat up, gasping for breath, hands flying to his throat. He felt the skin- blood everywhere, all dried. It itched incredibly, but when he made to peel it off, his skin was smooth. His chest heaved faster.

His slender, panicked hands flew over his body, inspecting rapidly for any injury. There was nothing. He looked around, frantic, and his eyes were met with the empty, dusty bones of the Shrieking Shack. The floor was smeared with dried blood. The air was still, silent, repressing. A heavy blanket of dust covered his senses and surroundings.

Struggling to a standing position, Severus's hair danced around his face. His robes, heavy with dried blood, fell stiffly around him. Disgusted, he slipped the robes off his shoulders to fall in a stiff heap on the floor. He stepped away from the stinking brown heap, loathe to remain in his once-white shirt and disgusting trousers, but he absolutely refused to take them off. He decided he would have to settle for a scourgify on his red-brown stained shirt and pants.

Severus felt around for his wand, retrieving it from where it had come slightly loose in his wrist holster. The leather of the holster was pierced through in several places, nearly falling apart in others. Severus cast a quick scourgify on his clothes, his holster, his skin, but he could still feel the weight of the dried blood in the cloth and on his flesh. With a growl, he repairoed his wand holster and cast an extended tempus spell.

4:56:29 am May 3, 1998 AD

His last memory took place several hours previous, and distinctly featured his death. Frowning, Severus stepped carefully to the outer door of the shack, looking out.

All was still. There were no screams in the distance, no sounds of cursing or battle. There was only the whisper of the wind in the branches. Looking out, Severus saw nothing to indicate that a battle had taken place less than a mile away. Huffing, he ducked back into the shack.

He had no way of knowing the outcome of the battle. The fighting had stopped, obviously, and he could only hope that the Potter brat had done his duty and defeated the Dark Lord.

He had to determine the outcome of the war in order to decide how to proceed. If the Dark Lord was still in power, Severus would go into hiding in the Americas and research how and why he had survived as well as try to, perhaps, work up a counter-revolution. If the Dark Lord had been defeated, he would most likely be wanted by the aurors as a dangerous Death Eater, were it not for his obvious demise. Severus would go into hiding somewhere closer to home, on the continent. Perhaps in France. He would then try to either clear his name or start a new life, whichever was more achievable.

However, now he had no idea as to who had won the battle, or more importantly, the war. He could not simply walk into the castle; he would be accosted immediately, no matter which side had won. He had no way of retrieving information from his home at Spinner's End, and he would run into the same problem if he left the country immediately. Growling with frustration, Severus swept his way to the trap door leading to the passage back to the castle. He threw it open and, casting a disillusionment spell and silencing spell on his form, swept into the dank tunnel.

As Severus made his way through the scarred halls to the Great Hall, his ears picked up bits of human noise. It was neither cheerful nor woeful in its generality, though a few individual voices which he could hear were at one extreme or the other. Every so often there was the pop of apparation or the whoosh of a floo connection, and the voices steadily decreased as he made his way closer to the hall.

Slipping in through the teacher's entrance to the hall, he glanced around at the many bodies laid out on the cold stone. There were so many: children he taught who might have been incapable at potions but never deserved to die so young. Pushing away the feeling of suffocation which was clawing its way up his throat, Severus forced his eyes away from his students' corpses. A few feet away, the youngest Weasley boy was conversing with a tall auror, Kingsley if Severus remembered correctly. The two looked tired, with bags beneath their eyes and dirt smeared on their faces. They were sagging in their boots, and their clothes were torn and filthy, with mud or blood Severus could not tell.

The Weasley spoke, his words falling out of his mouth in a waterfall. It was more a sigh than a constructed sentence.

"So is that everyone? We've checked all of the major activity spots, right?"

Kingsley's words were a bit more firm and structured, but only by a fraction.

"Yeah, kid, every inch of the castle and its grounds have been searched. This is all the casualties."

The red-haired boy nodded sullenly, then looked up, startled by his own thoughts.

"Just in the castle? And the grounds, but what about the Shrieking Shack? Snape must be still there, I don't see him here. We'd better send someone to get him. Harry would kill me if we left the greasy git out of the memorial grave site. The last thing he said before he passed out was 'Oh, and Snape gets an Order of Merlin. Wake me up in a week.'"

Curious. Apparently Severus would not have to arrange for a stay in France, after all. He dismissed his disillusionment and silencing spells with a wave of his wand and stepped up behind the young Weasley.

"I do not think that will be necessary, Weasley. I do not require a headstone quite yet, however, I would be much obliged if you would inform me of the outcome of the battle."

Weasley squeaked and spun around, eyes growing wide at the sight of his potions professor standing behind him. Before he even made the full turn he was sinking to the ground, eyes rolling up into his head in a dead faint. Beside him, Kingsley looked down at the unconscious boy and sighed.

"Ah, another fainter."

He looked back up to Severus and cocked an eyebrow.

"Your snakes are showing."

Swearing to himself, Severus brought his hands to his head, where tens of tiny black snakes curled and undulated about his scalp in place of hair. Kingsley snickered at him, seemingly unphased by this new development.

"I am fine, Poppy. You may cease your incessant coddling now, as I believe it would be prudent that I take a bath."

"Now, now, Severus, just one more spell and we'll be done. Then you can take your bath. The process certainly will not be sped by your complaints."

Severus glowered at the overbearing woman from his place on a cot in the makeshift infirmary. She waved her wand in a complex pattern, humming under her breath as she did so.

She finished with one last flick of the wand and turned her head up to look Severus in the eye, brow wrinkled in confused and begrudging acceptance.

"Well-"

She was interrupted by a bright white shimmering otter that swam up to her side. It opened its snout and the familiar voice of Hermione Granger came spilling out.

"Come up to Gryffindor tower. Harry has undergone some- changes."

The Patronus dissipated into the air and Madame Pomfrey grabbed her medical bag, waving a hand absently in Severus's direction.

"You may go now, Severus. Rest, get some sleep. I don't want to see you working on your potions for at least a week, and I want you to come in for a check up in two days. I must go, but there will be consequences if I find you have not followed my instructions."

With a snort, Severus watched her leave the hospital wing, then followed her out into the hallway. At last, he would be able to get rid of these clothes. He had a feeling that they could stand up on their own. They would be interesting to watch burn.


	3. Chapter 3: Beginnings

AN: Sorry this took so long to update! My editor just moved and has been too busy to edit, so I had to do this myself. I promise it's still good, though. I also went back and revised everything I've written so far, so be happy.

Thank you for all of my fantastic readers. I appreciate every favorite, every follow, and I love it when you review. If you see a mistake that bugs you to death, to ahead and pm me (respectfully, if you please) and I will endeavor to fix it. The same goes for questions.

I especially wanted to thank the reviewers who pointed out the mistakes in the last chapters. You guys are the best and I now look like less of a dunce for putting us four thousand years in the past and giving Harry no physical appearance.

Oh, and I feel a bit bad for not mentioning this earlier, but I have to cite my inspiration for this. It is, most probably, the only creature!fic I have ever read start to finish and was a great inspiration for this story. I recommend that you go read it, it is one of my absolute favorites (if a bit long). It is titled Unexpected Effects and is written by RussianWolf7 on fanfiction dot net. I love it, and I just had to cite it as a point of inspiration.

Also, I still do not own the characters or settings. I am pretty sure that if I did, I would be hexed to hell and back by my dearest Sev, so my still being here is a testament to my non-ownership.

Anyway, enjoy!

~Kiro

* * *

Word spread quickly through the castle. With as few people as there were there was accelerated communication and, consequently, an accelerated spread of gossip. It had remained the headquarters for the Order to hunt down those Death Eaters who had fled, as well as for the recovery of those heroes without families whose medical cases were not so bad that they must go to St Mungo's.

Gossip trickled through the channels of stone hallways and human throats, spreading faster than sickness and as selectively as fire. News of Severus Snape's resurrection was known by everyone in the castle within the day, and news of Harry's gorgon heritage spread faster than the boy flew on a broom.

"I knew it!" cried many people that day, though this specific utterance was issued from the throat of Seamus Finnegan. He was sitting on the floor in one corner of the Great Hall beside his boyfriend, one Dean Thomas. "I knew that greasy git had something unnatural about him! No one could survive that and still be human."

Dean eyed his beau dissaprovingly.

"Now, Seamus, you can't say stuff like that. Harry survived the killing curse twice and has snakes for hair, now, and he definitely isn't unnatural."

Seamus veiled his eyes in stubborn rebellion and looked at his new beau, whom he had asked out the day after the battle, with a pout.

"Fine, but that doesn't mean I like the prat."

"I never asked you to."

Severus watched as the dark-skinned student hugged the other around the shoulders. With a rakish grin, the Irishman pushed over the other teen and climbed on top of him. Severus turned away and stalked from the scene, rolling his eyes at teenage hormones and immature, irrational romantic ideals.

So the Potter boy had finally come into his gorgon heritage. Severus had suspected, during his school years and sometimes after, that the boy's father had been part gorgon. The glasses, the hair, the personality, the way he had won Lily over so easily, it all made sense. But when the tiny young Potter boy had come to the school and never showed the signs, Severus had discarded the idea. Now, it appeared that he had been right in his first estimate, after all.

Severus had heard the story of the horcruxes, first from the late headmaster and now from each and every victorious fighter. It was quite possible that the shard of Voldemort's soul in the young Potter's brain had somehow suppressed his heritage. Only when that piece was gone could he come into his powers.

Which he had, apparently. According to some careful eavesdropping, Severus had discovered that the boy was quarantined to Gryffindor tower and all were banned from entering his rooms lest they be petrified or turned to stone. The boy still had as little control over his powers as he had ever had.

Severus remembered when his eyes had first started to show calcifying aptitude. He had been twelve, it was in the summer between his first and second years of school, and he had spent hour after hour with his mother learning to control his eyes. He could never get the ability to completely recede, and was well-known for his stony gaze, but his family had not been able to afford the expensive ocular filters as the Potter brat had.

Severus had thus suffered from a perpetual headache all of his life from the eye strain of keeping himself from turning things to stone. This most likely did not help to alleviate his sour disposition, but when he was in pain it was fun to make others hurt as well. It probably did not hurt his Death Eater persona, as well.

Severus had envied the eldest Potter for years. He was a spoiled brat, with lenses and new school uniforms and books without tears or stains. The git never seemed to have headaches, and his eyes always smiled. It was damned annoying.

Even if the younger Potter brat purchased lenses, people with ocular filters couldn't walk about without training. Without anyone to train him Potter would likely be calcifying everything in a three mile radius.

He would need training, and Severus was the only one both trustworthy and capable.

With a sweep of his robes, Severus spun and strode, annoyed, towards Gryffindor tower.

There was a group of "guards" occupying the Gryffindor common room when Severus arrived. He simply strode in without any need for a password, the portrait being burnt to a crisp and having no guard.

The teen "guards" were scattered without rhyme or reason over the plush carpet, couches, and armchairs of the painfully red common room. Some sat alone, several had their heads in another's lap, and more than a few appeared to have been dumped in a pile on the couch. It was almost fascinating in its youthful, companionable chaos.

The group of amiably chatting young heroes immediately ceased talking when they spotted Severus in the doorway. Silence echoed, broken only by the sound of breathing, as the group and Severus stared at each other. After a moment, one, the Longbottom boy surprisingly, decided to speak up.

"You can't be in here, Professor. Harry is not to be disturbed, and the area is off limits."

Severus snorted, eyeing the haphazard group with disdain.

"So you are quarantining him in a barren dorm, without any research materials, and telling him to learn to control his eyesight on his own. I think I came at the right time, then."

He crossed the room, heading towards the stairs, but his arm was grabbed by a rather enraged red-haired Weasley. Severus couldn't be bothered to remember which one it was, but judging by the undignified expression which the Granger girl held upon being dumped on the floor when the boy rose, it was the other third of the Golden Trio. Ronald, he thought. The boy had much too firm a grip than anyone had a right to so young.

"We said that he isn't to be bothered, you greasy git!"

Severus roughly pried off the enraged boy's grip and continued on his way, not bothering to spare the entitled brat a word.

The rest of the group watched him go, looking at each other in distressed consternation until someone spoke up what the others were all thinking.

"Well, it's his funeral. Besides, it would be nice for the prat not to be able to talk for a change."

Harry was sitting atop his red bedspread, staring at the far wall, as he had been most of the day. Hermione had left after he calcified the top layer of her face by glancing at her. The thin layer of stone not difficult to fix, with the proper healing lotion, but it was not a good sign, either. Ever since then Harry had been trying to will himself to not turn people to stone. That had been three hours ago, and judging by the granite fly shards on the floor, he hadn't yet succeeded.

He heard the door open with a creak and, startled, Harry quickly looked over to see a human shape at the door. Realizing what he was doing, Harry hurriedly shut his eyes tight and, for extra measure, covered his eyes with his hands. Distressed, he called out.

"Get out! You aren't supposed to be in here! I've already probably looked at you too long, so leave and get medical attention."

There was the click of footsteps as the dark figure from the doorway advanced across the stone floor.

"Always so dramatic, Potter. I assure you that I have not come to harm from your ill-thought out gaze, nor will I be transfigured into a statue if you do so another time. Now stop acting like a child and remove your hands from your eyes."

Harry recognized the drawling, deep notes of Severus Snape. Ron had told him that the man was alive, but Harry somehow hadn't believed it. Hell, he still didn't believe it. This could just be an auditory hallucination caused by stress and lack of sleep. Regardless, Harry was not going to risk the chance that this man was, indeed, a live Severus Snape and open his eyes. He decided to communicate this, though the tone sounded much more anxious than he had originally intended.

"No. I'll kill you, for good this time. I don't want to deal with a statue of you somewhere glaring at everyone who walks by."

Robes whispered as the other man took another step closer.

"I highly doubt that you could do such a thing, after all the people, many years more experienced than you, I might add, who have tried over the years. Now, hands down."

Harry shook his head stubbornly and Severus sighed, running a hand through his placid snakes.

They were dormant again, as normal. He had taken the time to charm the testy reptiles unconscious and glamor them as he usually did before he had left his chambers for the day. His hair looked greasy with the glamor when the black mambas were unconscious, but they tended to get violent when he was irritated and stressed. Since that was near constantly, he had the habit of knocking them out whenever he left his rooms or home. This also had the benefit of making his head not look like a rat's nest under glamor, which Severus appreciated greatly.

He would wake them up for a few hours in the evening to allow them to stretch, and he left them to do as they please while he slept, but he didn't think that they had been awake in the daylight for most of his life. The first time in twenty years had been yesterday, after he was resurrected.

Lily had liked his snakes. She said they added character. Of course, she was the only one other than his parents and Albus who knew of Severus's condition. Kingsley and the second youngest Weasley brat would have been the fifth and sixth on that list, but Severus had taken care to obliviate the two after their encounter in the Great Hall.

But there was no way that Severus could possibly train Potter without him knowing what Severus was. This would most likely be... unpleasant.

Taking out his wand, Severus dismantled the glamors on his appearance, which masked his fangs and snakes quite well after years of practice. Satisfied, he enervated his scalp-pests and snatched his hand away from the hissing and snapping serpents. They were always a bit testy after being enervated.

On the bed, Harry's head snapped up, hands still over his eyes. He appeared to be in great concentration and highly alert.

"Who is that? That isn't my bunch. And why are they cursing so heavily? Did you bring a basket of snakes in here, Professor?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Severus strode forward and took a careful hold of each of Potter's hands, peeling them forcefully off his face. Below, the pale, scarred skin was tight over the young man's features, and creamy eyelids hid emerald eyes from view. The skin lay smooth beneath several dancing snake heads, and Severus winked at one. It recoiled and buried itself in the seething mass of its brothers.

"Open your eyes, Potter. I promise I will not be harmed by your gaze."

Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, the porcelain lids inched open, leaving emeralds to peer through thin, dark lashes. At last, the eyes were open all the way, looking at Severus as his face cycled through mixed expressions of astonishment, caution, fear, and excitement.

"Pro- professor? Y- you-"

"Yes, Potter. I am also a gorgon, though I would ask that you refrain from telling others or mentioning anything pertaining to my heritage where others might overhear."

Harry nodded, apparently awestruck as he watched sleek, black, oval-headed snakes about the width of a pencil dance around the older man's face.

"But you... You never..."

Severus restrained himself from rolling his eyes and instead settled for a very stony gaze.

"I would imagine that you have heard of glamors, Potter. I keep my _Dendroaspis polylepis_ unconscious and under glamor whenever I leave my apartments. I also glamor my lengthened canines, though I would imagine that it would be entertaining to observe how that particular addition affected the rumors of my being vampiric."

Harry stared, jaw loosening. Did Snape just... joke?

"Aside from the glamors, every gorgon receives training from their gorgon parent as to how to control their calcifying ocular abilities. However, as you have no gorgon parent to train you, the responsibility falls to me as the only gorgon in the area whom you are familiar with."

The boy blinked once, then nodded slowly.

"So... Do all your snakes look and act the same? Or do they have different personalities?"

Severus raised an exasperated eyebrow at the choice of questions.

"Of all the things to ask, you ask about the personalities of my snakes. One would wonder if Voldemort removed what was left of your intelligence along with his horcrux."

The Potter brat did not recoil at that, which was unusual. Instead he merely set his mouth in a stubborn line and narrowed his eyes at the professor.

"I'm just curious. Besides, they're new, and the first thing I see when I look at you."

Severus sighed and pulled up a chair to the bedside. He might as well sit while he answered the boy's inane questions.

"As I determined when I was approximately eight years of age, my snakes are miniature versions of the black mamba, common to the African continent, and one of the deadliest snakes in the world. They tend to be extremely aggressive, and mine happen to be very volatile in temper, though a few are worse than the others. Most black mambas tend to be light brown or grey, however..."

The boy listened attentively to the older man, tracing his face with dangerous emerald eyes and drinking in the scene to store for all eternity.


End file.
